


See Yourself As Part of the World

by Spatz



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spy BFFs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:18:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatz/pseuds/Spatz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some reason, it was always robots in Amsterdam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See Yourself As Part of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaned-up and expanded version of a commentfic I wrote for foxxcub's [Avengers Kissing Meme](http://foxxcub.livejournal.com/764068.html), originally posted [here](http://foxxcub.livejournal.com/764068.html?thread=25725604#t25725604).

For some reason, it was always robots in Amsterdam.

There'd been the android incident in '05 when Clint was assigned to that jerk Malben, then the creepy spider-cleaner army in '08 with Natasha, and now it was remote-controlled Doombots with the Avengers. Between the Hulk smashing, Thor swinging his hammer with gleeful abandon, and Iron Man setting off some micro-EMPs, the party was mostly over at this point, though it was hard to see how many 'bots were left in the dim light of the warehouse. 

Clint aimed carefully at the narrow neck joint of the only one still visible, and loosed on his exhale.

There was a blinding flash of light, and the shock wave threw Clint back from the railing of the catwalk. The lights went out in the warehouse, and he was plunged into darkness. Perfect. He hated villains who picked lairs without windows, and he _really_ hated villains who tried to get the last word with explosives.

"I think that's the last of them," Tony's voice came over the comms, slightly breathless. "Hawkeye, can you confirm?"

"Negative, I didn't pack my night vision goggles,” Clint said, squeezing his eyes shut and blinking hard. He'd taken off his shades when they'd chased the 'bots inside, and his eyes were still aching from the explosive flash. Maybe when they got back, he'd ask Tony to build him a set that could compensate for both glare and low light. “I won't have a visual until someone gets the lights back on."

There was a brief, ominous silence.

"Hawkeye, the lights _are_ on," Steve said, sounding worried.

"Oh," Clint said into the darkness, struggling to keep his voice level. He wasn't very successful. "That's....not good."

"Stay put, Hawkeye, I'm en route to your position," Natasha said. Clint clicked his radio in acknowledgment, and focused on controlling his breathing.

Normally, the exercises were second nature: breathe, draw, release between heartbeats. But in the darkness, he was hyper aware of the sound of the air in his lungs, the pounding of his heart, and the lack of a target to focus on. Clint told himself it was just the flash, but he wasn't even seeing spots, and his eyes felt gritty and burned: what if the explosion had done something more severe? If he couldn't see, he couldn't shoot, and that was...everything.

His hands started to shake.

Clint jerked at the clang of boots on metal nearby, the vibration signaling the impact was close. "Tasha?" he said, his voice cracking.

"I'm alone," she said, calm and familiar. “The others are doing a final sweep, so I had Iron Man take us off comms while they handle it.” He was desperately grateful, for a moment, that she knew him so well.

There was a rustle of fabric, and he felt the air move as Natasha knelt beside him. Clint reached out for her blindly and she gripped his wrist, making sure he knew where she was. She slid her fingers up his arm and cupped his face in her hands. “Clint, look at me.” Her thumbs stroked his temples where she held his face. “It’s alright, let me see. Open for me, okay?”

Trembling, he opened his eyes wide and listened in the darkness to Natasha’s breathing. She let out a quiet sigh and he tensed.

“You’re fine, Clint. There’s no damage or blood, but your pupils are still contracted. It’s just a bad case of flash blindness, okay?”

He let out a shaky breath and nodded. Natasha leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Clint had always though that sort of thing was silly, when he saw it in movies. The forehead? Really? He saw the appeal of cheeks and lips, and there were all sort of other areas he appreciated having someone's mouth on, but your forehead was just the space between your eyes and your hair. Nothing special there.

But he got it, suddenly, with Natasha's hands cupping his face: her hair brushing his skin, the clean smell of sweat, and the quiet space between them.

Despite everything, just for a moment, he felt safe.

They sat in silence like that, letting their breathing slow and even out, until Clint started to see the edges of things, black fading into purple and yellow spots and the weight of Natasha's steady gaze. Clint reached up and pulled a piece of packing material out of her hair, thumbed away a streak of dust from her cheek. She let him, and he'd never been so glad to see her glare at him before.

In the distance, he heard a murmur of voices, and Thor's booming laugh. The team must have finished clearing the warehouse, and were starting the traditional debate over who smashed the most Doombots. They should join them. 

He shifted a little, and Natasha slid her hands down to his neck. "How much to do you want to bet Stark makes a blind Zen archer crack when we get down there?" Clint joked weakly.

"Stakes?" Natasha asked, raising a interested eyebrow. She squeezed his shoulders once, and lifted her hands away.

"If it's the first thing out of his mouth, you have to hit him for me," Clint said, grinning at her.

"And if he doesn't, you're doing all my property damage paperwork for this one," she countered. It was a sucker bet, but Nat was a softie in her own way. Mostly involving affectionate violence.

"Done," Clint agreed, and she guided him to the ladder and let him climb down by himself.

Tony greeted them with: "So, Zen Master Clint, can we put an apple on Cap's head and have you- Ow!"

Clint grinned, relaxing into the chorus of familiar voices and shapes around him, and felt hands on his face for a moment, and a feeling like home.


End file.
